Armchair Gods!
by BadBrains
Summary: An epic rendition of the events that unfolded in a musty bar, many years ago...that drove every customer to unfiltered insanity.


A small artificial arm gripped a silver disc out of a vast row of them. With precision, it placed it in the path of a red laser. The cramped smoky room was now alive with country western music from the mid 60s. All sorts of people danced, roared with laughter, and drank. One particular man held his beer close to his face and talked quietly to a husky fellow in a red hat that sat on the bar stool next to him. 

"I hate this song", he said getting up and turning abruptly to face the jukebox.

As he did this, his half-full mug of beer spilled over the shirt of a very tall man. He glanced up nervously, to see the scowling face of a very infuriated tall man. He began to apologize, when he heard a woman yell something that sounded like "click miss pass" and he flew back over the bar from the result of a very quick and strong fist. He got up dizzily, and struggled over the counter for a quick escape, however, a group of plaid shirts and tinted aviator glasses had formed around the door and were shaking their fists; some holding money. He pivoted to face his angry opponent with the considerable brown stain on his white undershirt.

All he could concentrate on was a vain throbbing on his forehead and the pure fury in the beasts' eyes. In those eyes he saw his death, or considerable pain and high hospital bills. He thought of nothing but to fall to his knees and pray.

With his hands clasped in front of him, and his eyes shut tightly, he silently prayed to himself. He did not often speak to god, but at this moment, as a 340 lb giant had just bashed a bottle over the counter creating a lethal weapon, he was begging the lord himself for anything. Just as life as he knew it seemed a distant memory, he heard a loud and whoosh-like sound buzz past his ear.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a blue and white mist hanging where the bottle-clenching barbarian had been standing. The crowd was motionless, wide-eyed with their jaws open. Yes, each person in the bar actually had a gaping mouth. For in the small colonial establishment, with a dartboard and a 14-year-old pool table, was god.

God was an armchair, and a very unstylish one at that. It was faded orange with removable flaps on the arms, and reclining lever. It had a bright yellow glow surrounding it, which had just emitted a blue beam at the man with the beer stain on his shirt. This caused him to disintegrate. Despite his upholstery appearance, everyone there knew that it was god. No one spoke for eight minutes, until finally the armchair piped up.

"Hello, awe-stricken people and fellow inanimate objects. My name is Javier."

Still, no one spoke, oxygen hardly passed through their open mouths.

"I see, I can imagine this would be awkward for you all. I suppose you are wandering why I appear to you as furniture, why I am speaking English, why I came to your place of fine food and drink on this cold Wisconsin night, in the year 2005. But most of all, I have a strong suspicion that you are wandering the meaning of all life and everything in the universe as it has come to be." Said Javier.

"It's 2004." Said a sandy haired man in an equally sandy colored vest.

Another blue beam emerged from the chair at the man who had spoken, blasting him into a cloud of tan mist.

The crowd fell back, in an urgent sounding murmur.

"Yes, it is true, I am a vengeful god. No, that was merely an icebreaker. Hmm, think of it, as you will, for I am your vision tonight."

Still, no one spoke or moved. This fearful reluctance only seemed to infuriate the completely faceless furniture. The only sound was a soft drone that generated from the chair's aura.

"You there, in the plaid." Everyone in the bar turned pale. "Next to the jukebox, put on John Denver. The man did as he was told, fumbling in his pocket for quarters and desperately pushing buttons, flipping through the catalogs with pure swiftness. At last, "Sunshine on my Shoulders" filled the bar with odd authority. The chair seemed to sway with it

"This music, it is, it is absolutely exquisite. Simply now, just listen to the soaring melody, the sheer brilliance of its harmony and resonance. It is possibly the single redeemable factor of this detestable loitering place for sea creatures."

A woman furrowed her brow.

"That's right", he continued at the woman, "I created this, this "Earth". This universe, it came from me. I was lazy, young and naive then. Youths tend to be. In a few minutes I had constructed a flawless formula for a continuing existence, run by simple laws and with the ability to maintain via constant manipulations and reactions."

It's audience appeared awestruck.

"Your ivory dominoes over there, yes, to that effect. Yes, a ripple in a west Virginia pond." It stopped speaking. It's glow dimmed. I do wish John Denver would make new music. I miss it so. Who does he think he is, just quitting the business."

"He dead." Said a grizzly man with an enormous beard.

"What. What did you say." The armchair stammered.

"I say boy he dead." Replied the man.

God went silent once again. "This plagues me, for I am only what I create. I may never defy some things. I am not all knowing, no absolute being.

A drunken woman fell out of the crowd, to face God. "You listen, Hahaavare, you ain't no god. I know the lord stands proudly by heavens golden gates and sees and knows all of his brave children." The crowd seemed to murmur in agreement.

The chair laughed hysterically for seventeen minutes. The crowd became more verbal and unruly, but Javier simply cackled louder over their shouting. "Yes, yes, indeed, your classic action hero. Your bearded man with brown sandals on his feet. Where is he to save his brothers and sisters now? The eco-system of a rain forest, the perfect formation of ahurricanover a small beach village. Yes, he created all of this. Or how about that eight-armed troll wearing the pointed gold helmet. Or the fat man in his open robe. Worship them, analyze them. Yes that's all you do. I don't even have a mother your insensitive pr-

"Out", said the bartender. "You come in my bar, you fire laser beams at my customers, you hassle these good people, and you don't buy anything. Out. Now." He swung a double barrel sawed off weapon over the counter and firmly aimed it at God.

"Yikes, a guy can't make a special appearance anymore without having a gun pointed at him." His tone deepened and became slower. "Do you know who I am? How would you like for a banana dog hybrid archeologist to dig up your races fossils in the ground? Did I ever tell you the story of the Stegosaurus who thought he was tough spit? Yeah. I'll eat that gun and feed the minerals to your grandchildren."

The man who had spilt the beer got up and spoke to Javier. "Hey, man, thanks, I think I'm ok now, you uh, yeah you vaporized that guy for me.

"You sure?" he replied.

"Oh yeah, I think I'm pretty much set, thanks though."

"Suit yourself. Good luck with your TV appearances, murder convictions and cult spawning everybody." And the armchairs image faded from sight.

The bartender lowered his gun, and stared at the man holding the empty mug of beer.

"I think its cause I'm a big Denver fan", he shrugged.

His friend immediately punched him in the arm.


End file.
